


with their legs tied up in knots

by unhookingstarswithoutpermission



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt Sirius Black, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Remus Lupin & James Potter Friendship, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhookingstarswithoutpermission/pseuds/unhookingstarswithoutpermission
Summary: In the end, they don’t have to worry a lot longer, at least not about Sirius. It takes another two days for him to Floo out the fireplace in the Potter’s drawing room, proceeding to get soot everywhere, then promptly passing out on the carpet. There’s an ugly slash on his cheekbone, red and still bleeding a little. Remus knows that, if he took off his shirt, there’d be matching stripes evenly drawn along his back, ending just below the collar. If they’d hurt him where people could see, it meant they didn’t care anymore about the Black heir being seen like that.He wills himself not to stagger again, because Sirius needs him.or the one where Sirius escapes to James's house, but Remus is already there.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	with their legs tied up in knots

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a minute since I last wrote and published a fanfic here. I guess this is the pandemic's fault.

The thing is, Remus hasn’t heard from Sirius for the whole summer, and that’s okay. It’s normal, actually, since the marvelous Black matriarch has only gotten kinder and kinder each year Sirius has been to Hogwarts. He doesn’t fret anymore, the way he used to do during their first summers apart, and that’s okay.

But this time around it feels like they’ve been torn apart with sheer force and little kindness, and Remus feels like one of his limbs is missing. It doesn’t help that he’s spending almost all of August at the Potter’s thanks to a very lucky early moon. He loves James like he’s his own blood and it’s interesting that it’s only the two of them, which never happens, and they can have actual conversations without the horny-induced sixteen-years-old foolishness embodied by Sirius and Peter.

When he was young and scared, he used to think that James Potter was an outright prat – a chivalrous and kind one, yes, but still a prat who couldn’t muster the attention to talk about something serious for more than thirty seconds, tops. But now they’re here, lying awake under the faint moonlight, sharing a bed, and Remus loves him even more for that, because he _knows_ and he isn’t disgusted to share a bed, just as he wasn’t when they were all of thirteen and he found out about the _other_ secret.

“You’re scared?”, and it’s not a question, not really. Even if James’s voice raises the slightest bit at the end, this is the only way he can allow himself to say _I’m scared, we all are, can we talk about it_. The Potter’s manor, warded by ancient magic and way too spacious for a family of three, is one of the favoured places for the Order’s meetings.

Remus only sees the glint of the light on the edge of skewed glasses. “About what? The war, my furry problem? Sirius? NEWTs?”. He could go on, really, he has a list. The answer to all those questions, by the way, is yes. Another reason he loves to share a bed, one of the reasons he used to share with Sirius even before they were _them_ , is that not being alone makes him sleep better. No thoughts that keep him awake, minimum nightmares. He used to share with his mum after the full moon.

“All of them, I guess”, James answers, and his voice is weirdly quiet, contained. He was never raised to be proud like the Black children, but he was raised to be sure of his position in life, to keep his head high and talk with sureness and poise. Now he’s not, sullen and defeated.

Remus feels like his heart shrinks in the very same moment he realises just how suffered that question must have been. In the dark, he manages to squeeze his shoulder in what he hopes feels comforting. “Of course I am. Of course we are. We’re at _war_ , James”, and he sighs. “Maybe not yet, but soon. When we get out of Hogwarts for sure. And of course, I’m scared for Sirius. You heard what they said about the Blacks pledging their alliance to Voldemort. I’d be a fool not to be scared.”

(Had it been only that morning? They were not allowed into the real, let’s-talk-about-Muggles-dying meetings: Mrs Potter had said they were boys, still, and that was the last summer they had to enjoy it. _You could go fly, darlings, or go brush up your chess skills, I remember Remus was nearly unbeatable last year_. They had gone upstairs, just to please her. And James knew maybe a hundred of spells he shouldn’t have known, and Remus was just that good at placing them with accuracy and purpose. Then they heard the names being listed, the people who were seen cursing and hexing and doing favours. The Blacks, all of them, except for Sirius.

The first night the Marauders joined him during the transformation, Remus had vowed to himself that no matter what, he’d be strong for them, he’d never let them see how scared he was if they were scared too. He felt it was the only way he could repay the life changing debt he had now. But in that moment, he knew he was failing to uphold his vow, because James was reaching out to keep him upright. “He’s going to pull some shit, and we won’t even know”, he murmured, and he didn’t have to say, _He’s going to get himself killed_ , because they both knew.)

“I know, mate. He hasn’t been answering the mirrors either, I’ve been worried. I was just thinking that maybe, maybe, he’d come here the week before school, like last year. I wanted to let him know he could come now, if he wanted. If he wants to get away.”

_If he runs away he’s going to be safe, at least,_ Remus thinks. “Maybe they pulled some shit on the mirrors, reckon they’ll work in that hellhole?”, he asks instead. “And Sirius knows he can come here, I think your mum likes him more than you. Hell, if he wants he can go to mine or to Pete’s. And I think he will, if- well, if he has to.” _He owes it to me,_ he thinks. _He has to come back to me._

“Or we could, couldn’t we? Once we’re in Diagon Alley we can sneak off, I mean, how big can London even be-”

Remus hits him, and James snickers. A slow smile stretches on his lips, too. “Yeah, sure, we can figure out your masterplan when it isn’t 4am. Hey, do you want me to ask Lily if she wants to come to Diagon with us?”

In the end, they don’t have to worry a lot longer, at least not about Sirius. It takes another two days for him to Floo out the fireplace in the Potter’s drawing room, proceeding to get soot everywhere, then promptly passing out on the carpet. There’s an ugly slash on his cheekbone, red and still bleeding a little. Remus knows that, if he took off his shirt, there’d be matching stripes evenly drawn along his back, ending just below the collar. If they’d hurt him where people could see, it meant they didn’t care anymore about the Black heir being seen like that.

He wills himself not to stagger again, because Sirius needs him.

“They Crucioed me”, Sirius had said at first, voice rough. He’d been screaming. Then, “Mum, if I make you cry I’ll never forgive myself, please.”

Mrs Potter always smiled when Sirius called her mum, something he’d been doing since a mistake he made when he was twelve, but she doesn’t this time. He almost pouts, then turns to the two of them. Remus is so grateful James is there at his side because he knows just how distraught he must look, and at least he isn’t the only one. When they’re left alone and Sirius doesn’t look about to faint anymore, he bites his lip and says “Sorry”, and that’s when they finally, finally hug him.

The last time they all slept in the same bed, they were thirteen and on their first holiday together. They were camping the Muggle way, to both James and Sirius’s dismay, in the lovely Welsh desolation. And it’s weird, trying to fit themselves in only one bed, but no one wants to be alone that night. James had tried to imply he’d sleep in the guest room and leave his bed to them, but Remus didn’t want to hear it. He might be Sirius’s boyfriend, but the nightmares about seeing him half-dead weren’t reserved to him.

So they end up huddled weirdly, Sirius in the middle, talking quietly in the dead of night, again.

“What happened?”, James asks. He was the only one who could gather the courage to ask a question like that: Sirius had refused to talk all day, and no one wanted to push. Even now, he shakes weakly, the slightest bit. Remus has his arms around him, hugging him from behind, so he squeezes tighter.

“They have marks, now”, Sirius starts. “A skull with a snake around it, or something like that. Fucking Slytherins. It looked like a tattoo at first, but they all have it. On their arm. Regulus too, I think.” Remus hates, hates, hates, how detached he sounds. Dead, emotionless. But he knows he won’t let himself cry, not yet. Later, maybe, when it’s just the two of them and the hurt has subsided. “They were planning an attack. A hunt, they said. For Muggles. They won’t go near Muggleborns yet, they aren’t powerful enough and they know it. Damn cowards, all of them.” He’s silent for a bit. “Mother asked me to join Bella. She’s getting powerful, she said. Getting to know the important people. She’ll save you even if you still want to ruin our reputation consorting with blood traitors and mudbloods, you should go.”

“Oh, Pads”, it escapes Remus’s lips. Sirius turns his head a bit, oh so sweetly, just enough to press his lips to the skin of his arm and breathe him in.

He faces James again. “I told her dear Bella’s batshit crazy, and that they don’t even have the guts to attack blood traitors and mudbloods. She started the whole bringing dishonour on my family shit again, so I told her I’d rather die before I honour my family in any way. So she threatened to disown me. I told her to do it, I wouldn’t have heirs of my own anyway, since I’m a fag. Sorry about that, Moony, I should have told you before I just went and spilt it out.”

Remus gets closer to him, and he swears he can feel James do the same on the other side of the bed.

_Padfoot,_

_How are you? What did you do? Fuck, mate, you really scared me this time around. It sounded like Moony’d seen someone die from the letter he sent me. Just how bad did you fuck up? I think I’ll come to the Potters before the start of school, I didn’t plan to but well, it sounds like you all need me to cheer you up. If you need something you can tell me, I’ll pick it up before I get there._

_Pads, really, are you okay?_

_Wormtail_

_Moony, Prongs,_

_Sorry to write just one note to both of you, I don’t have much time right now. Thanks for the invite, Prongs, I think I’ll try my best to get there ASAP. Look after Moony until I get there, will you?_

_Moony, try not to worry too much, you’re already getting grey by the minute as it is. Look after Pads, we all know you’re the only one who can talk to him when he’s like this._

_Wormtail_

James makes himself scarce in the aftermath of the day “we adopted Pads”, as he’s calling it now. His trunks and all of his things somehow ended up at the Potters’: Remus thinks Mrs Potter has something to do with it but frankly, he’s too afraid to ask.

So he does what he does best: be comforting, be calming, be _there_. James’s out flying, they’re sprawled on the big bed in the guest room. He’s reading one of the endless books borrowed from the Potters’ library no one even really uses anyway; Sirius is playing with an old Snitch.

Then he starts talking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t owl you at all, Moony. It never seemed like the right time to sneak a note out”, and that’s so not him, Remus feels sadness creep into his bones even further. Sirius Black doesn’t apologize; he sure as hell doesn’t sound so defeated.

“Pads, please, I know. No need to be sorry, I wasn’t worried – Sirius arches one eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes – I wasn’t _that_ worried, I knew you couldn’t write. And you told me when we were on the train, remember?”

Actually, Sirius had bullied James and Peter out of the carriage they were in, laughed at their declaration of slender, then sheepishly looked at him through his eyelashes and told him he wanted to say goodbye properly. Remus had kept with him those images for the whole summer. The way Sirius had looked, hair falling softly around his cheeks, biting his lips like he was unsure. Then Sirius’s hands gentle on his waist, his kisses demanding. How he whispered goodbyes, how he blushed when Remus slipped a letter into his pocket, how he got softer and tender and then just hang onto him like he never wanted to let go.

And now Sirius is looking at him through those same eyelashes, eyes big and open and way more tired than they were. _He deserves love,_ Remus thought. _Love and kindness and all the good things I can give him, and then those I can’t_. They’re touching, now, his hand softly holding onto Sirius’s wrist. He realizes how much he missed it just then; they’re so used to be constantly touching, when they’re together, that it sort of becomes an afterthought. But not when it’s summer, and they can’t write to each other, not when just yesterday Sirius was hurting so bad from things Remus can’t protect him from.

Because it’s _Sirius-and-him_ , it’s _them_ in the way they have become after they first kissed and warmth exploded in Remus’s chest in a way it never quite managed to before, he needs to be honest with him. “I was scared, yes. They were talking about what was going on with your parents. We were worried, James and I. About what you would do.”

“Well, we’ve seen how that went, Moony. Amazing, wasn’t I?”

Sirius gets this deprecating streak at times, and Remus never quite knows how to react to it. Sometimes he’s too gentle, makes him feel like he’s coddling him, and they fight. Sometimes he plays into it, Sirius screams and recoils from him and never cries, and he can’t ever apologize enough.

“I don’t know if amazing’s the word, love, but you were brave, that’s for sure.”

“Foolish, you mean.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

The ghost of a smile plays at Sirius’s lips, and Remus is satisfied. It isn’t time to kiss his wounds, not yet, they’re raw and bleeding and they _hurt_. He caresses at the mark on his cheek, and Sirius doesn’t pull away. He leans in and kisses him, tender, and Sirius kisses back.

One of the best tricks Remus has learned during sixth year is how to vanish cigarettes smoke away. It takes a bit of concentration, really, especially if he’s the one smoking, weed’s smell never properly washing out the curtains around his bed. But it’s easier when it’s Sirius smoking next to him, and when you have to worry about just how disappointed Mrs Potter’s going to look once she finds out that you’re still smoking.

It’s nights like this when everything that’s happening all around him fades in the background and Remus thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’ll get out of it. Not unharmed, surely, not without all this shit taking its toll on them. But he dares to think that if he has all this love stocked away, if the war hasn’t wiped it away and replaced it with fear and danger and emptiness, then they have a chance.

Sirius is beautiful in a way that’s ridiculous, really. He has never quite understood just how much he actually sees it and how much it’s just him acting confident to hide everything else, but Remus knows he’s never seen anyone that breath-taking. There he is now, propped up against the bed, head turned to the window. To anyone else he’d look calm, peaceful even, but Remus has been unable to take his eyes off him for two years and then some. It’s in the way the tension never quite leaves his shoulders; the way his lips are never quite relaxed. Sirius is never calm, never still, always waiting to spring to action. Sometimes it awes him, it makes him fall in love just as hard as the first time. But there are times like this, when he knows it’s all pent-up fury and suffering and if he could, he’d just will it away. He’s not afraid he’ll see Sirius break apart, he’s afraid he won’t be able to help him pick up the pieces.

“Pads”, he whispers, just to stop thinking. They’re so close, Remus cuddled up on his side. When they’re like this, he never knows who’s supporting who: they’re both so dramatic, even if in a fundamentally opposite way, they both feel things so deeply. Maybe they should just decide they’re always supporting each other, and that’s that.

Sirius turns around, vanishes the cigarette between his fingers, presses up against him and kisses him, light. “Darling”, he says, and Remus wonders for the millionth time how he manages to make it sound so sincere, no trace of sarcasm at all.

“How are you, really?”, he asks. It’s been a week. The scars on his back are little more than thin white stripes now, thanks to the extensive collection of healing charms Remus has picked up from all the days in Pomfrey’s infirmary.

Sirius seems to weigh the question, eyes in a faraway place Remus can never quite manage to reach. He’s grown to be okay with that, because it’s familiar, knowing there’s something no one else is ever going to understand fully. When he gets like that, he prefers to be talked out of it, gently led to the here and now, where he knows how to face the things that hurt him. But Sirius needs to work through it on his own: silently, and steadily. So, he waits.

“Better, really”, he’s sincere, but tired. Remus places his lips on his collarbone, too lightly to call it a kiss. “I think I’ve done it for real this time, you know? Like, I’m pretty sure they burned me out of the tapestry for good, like they did with Dromeda. Did I ever tell you about it?” Remus shakes his head. “It basically means I’ve been kicked out of the Black line. I guess my dear little brother’s the heir now. There’s no going back”, and he grins, almost relieved. “I didn’t ever think they’d do it for real, but maybe the queerness did it for them. No need to skip Regulus if he’s going to become the heir anyway, eventually. He was there, by the way. When mother hexed me. Didn’t raise a finger.” Regulus had stopped speaking to Sirius almost as soon as he got to Hogwarts, but sometimes he reached out to Remus, to make sure his older brother was alright. He always made him promise not to tell him. It broke his heart a little, but it made him even angrier, seeing what a coward he was.

“Did you tell them you were with someone?” Remus asks then, still unsure on the way to word it. It’s one thing to hear Sirius Black tell you he loves you, but when he says his disgraced uncle has left him a flat in London and he wants to share it with you when school’s over, that’s a completely different thing. He guesses he can say they’re together, at least.

“Yeah, I’m just surprised they didn’t hear about it any sooner. Maybe they thought it was just a rumour someone spread around to disgrace me even further, I don’t know”, and he was right, really, because even the wall knew they were together. Sirius was proud about it, proud about _them,_ in the way he was brought up the be proud about his blood and his wealth: he didn’t only show they were together, he flaunted it, physical in a way that made even James grow tired of it and hex him from time to time. One night, he told him, _Moony, of course I show you off, you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me._ Remus had kicked him, because the other option was to give in to the tears that were burning at the corners of his eyes and that was so not going to happen.

“So what are you going to do, Mr. Not-so-Black-anymore?”

Sirius grinned again; this time wider, softer. “I think I’m going to hold James up on the promise he made when he gave me fake adoption papers, maybe. If they want me. It’s only until November, anyway. Then I get a house, and a fund too. We’re set for a little bit.”

They had argued a lot, because Remus knew it’d be difficult for him to find a job, and Sirius had told him he had enough money to support the both of them. Remus had scream he didn’t want to be his _fucking charity case, thank you very much,_ and Sirius had just replied, glacial, _You know what, I’m not even going to tell you I want to do this for the person I love most in the whole world, if that’s your opinion of me._ It took weeks for them to find an agreement that left both of them unhappy. Peter had taken one look at them, then he went, _Are you really fighting about it? It’s at least two fucking years away,_ and neither of them liked it when he was right.

So he’s not going to fight him about it, not now at least, because he sees how peaceful this line of thoughts is making him. How he relaxes at the shoulders, releases the harsh tension they both could see he was holding. He wants to kiss him, so he does. He’s still incredulous how easy it is, arching his head up to meet his lips, the way Sirius melts under his lips and his fingers on his chest. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t want to stop kissing him ever, if he can keep him like this for some time.

Instead, Remus moves back a little bit. “Are you tricking me into becoming your house-husband?”, he grins, because he can’t let him get away with it without at least joking about it.

“Of course not, my love”, Sirius says back, smiling wicked and hot and oh so beautiful. “ _I’m_ going to make a fine house-husband, aren’t I?”

There’s this feeling that makes him want to stay there forever, just cherishing the sunny days in the back garden of the Potter’s manor. A week before they start school, Peter comes over and it’s the four of them again, like they’re living in a fancier version of their dormitory. But here, still close enough to magic they can touch it but far enough from the world that they can spend whole days without thinking about the war, it’s like they’re back to the years where they didn’t have a care in the world. They play pranks on Mrs Potter, who only laughs and calls them “their boys”. They feel young, and if Remus stops and thinks too hard about it, he has to wonder how they stopped feeling young when they’re not even 17 yet. So, he doesn’t stop.

Then it’s the 1st of September and a Portkey awaits for them in the living room. Sirius and he travel together, hands intertwined. They don’t stop holding hands even when they get to the Platform, even if Remus can feel how Sirius’s heartbeat quickens. He knows, he just knows, that this time around his mother and maybe his father will make a point to wait until he gets on the train; to save their faces, of course, but he knows this time around it’s also about him, about seeing just how much Sirius managed to dishonour them further. He knows Sirius spoke to Mrs Potter, and they were allowed to keep the wand in the sleeve of their sweater.

They wait for the others to join them anyway, because it’s safer. Sirius keeps holding onto him, head held up and proud. Remus sees the tight line of his lips, and James and Peter do too, walking in front of them like they’re ready to fuck anyone who dares say anything up. But from afar Sirius looks perfect like he always is, comfortable in who he is, the very picture of bravery and foolishness. He can feel his heart swell with love.

The Blacks are there, Regulus and his mother surrounded by pure-blooded sycophants. Remus feels their gaze like knives, when they see Sirius, the way their lips purse with distaste. But he also sees that Regulus has worry written in the lines of his forehead, while Walburga sees him – his hands, still tangled; Sirius leaning on his shoulder to grin at him – and for a moment, he thinks maybe eyes can kill. Then Sirius sees them too, holds their gaze like he has no fear, like he doesn’t have scars that will never quite heal. He holds him even closer, tighter, firmer.

Later, when they’re on their designated carriage – their names carved underneath the seats – Sirius relaxes, melts into his arms and stays there the whole ride. James and Peter tease them, as they’re bound to do, before starting to plan for their “Welcome-back-to-school” prank. Remus kisses the curly mess of hair, buries his nose there. Maybe they’ll all be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to thank my friend for proofreading this, she did such a good job!   
> If you liked it and you want more of this, I'd love to read a comment!


End file.
